


Lagrima Quieta (A Quiet Tear)

by pamz



Series: Diana's New World Zorro Facebook Challenges [2]
Category: Zorro (TV 1990)
Genre: Angst, Challenge Response, F/M, Major character death - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-09-28 13:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10102178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pamz/pseuds/pamz
Summary: "A Death in the Pueblo" challenge story - Big changes come to the pueblo de Los Angeles, especially for Diego.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written in response to Diana aka knotheadsrus's "A Death in the Pueblo" Challenge. The criteria: 1. Someone must die or be presumed dead 2. Must included a lace hanky 3. Zorro must use his whip 4. Must mention albondigas soup 5. The alcalde must be in a jail cell.
> 
> Disclaimer: This story is an amateur, not-for-profit publication produced solely for the entertainment of other Zorro fans and is not intended to infringe upon any rights of Goodman/Rosen Productions, New World Television, Zorro Productions Inc., the estate of Johnston McCulley, or anyone else.

Deep underneath the de la Vega hacienda, the only son of the house stood in front of an easel, dabbing at the canvas before him. Diego's brows were drawn in concentration as he added a touch of white paint. The handsome features of his father smiled back at him. He was quite pleased with his results and hoped the elder de la Vega would be, too. The old don's sixtieth birthday was fast approaching and this portrait was to be his gift to the man who had given him everything he could ask for. And not just money and privilege. But courage, strength, and love. Diego knew a painting was nothing compared to those things but it was the best he had to offer.

Just as he was about to apply another dot of paint, the front door of the hacienda was thrown open, hitting the nearest wall with a loud bang. "Diego!" His father's voice boomed out, calling for him again and again.

Diego, who thought the elder de la Vega had planned to spend the rest of the afternoon in the pueblo, hurriedly rinsed out his brush, then flipped a paint smeared cloth over the unfinished portrait. He rushed up to the spyhole, noting that for the moment, the library was unoccupied. Seconds later, Diego emerged from the fireplace, grabbed the first book he could get his hands on, and plopped himself down on the white satin covered settee. He barely had time to open the tome when his father, followed closely by Felipe entered the room.

"Where have you been?" the old don demanded. "Why didn't you answer me?" He did not give his son a chance to reply before speaking again. "The alcalde is going to flog Señor Peralta for selling the garrison spoiled meat and causing half the lancers to get sick."

"The chicken farmer?" Diego queried, interrupting his father's tirade.

" _Si_ ," Don Alejandro said impatiently. "Peralta swears the meat was good when delivered and that the garrison's cook must have waited too long before serving it. And of course, the cook, who also got ill, swears the chicken was bad when he got it."

"Then why would he have served it if he knew it was bad?" asked Diego. "Either way, it seems the cook is the one to blame."

"Unfortunately, de Soto doesn't agree. He's going to give poor Peralta twenty lashes this afternoon."

"That is truly despicable," said Diego. "But it is the farmer's word against the cook's. Of course Ignacio is going to side with his man."

"We caballeros have decided to take a stand about this," announced the elder de la Vega. "We need everyone, including you, Diego." He gripped the gloves he was holding in his right hand a bit tighter. "Come on."

"Uh. . ." Diego searched his mind for an excuse and came up with nothing, other than the book in his possession. With a world-weary sigh, he said, "But I wanted to finish this before I went to bed tonight. I'm only halfway through it."

"A book? A book is more important than stopping a man from receiving an unjust punishment?" The old don raked his free hand through his hair, giving the impression he was about to tear it from his head. "Honestly, Diego. . ." He seemed to be unable to form words as his face grew mottled. "So be it." He turned and stormed back out of the hacienda, forcibly slamming the front door shut behind him.

Felipe, who had done little to that point but stare at his own feet, looked up then. Diego could see the disappointment in the lad's dark brown eyes. "What else could I do?" Diego inquired, feeling disgusted himself. "I am not going to be of much help as myself. This is a job for Zorro."

The lad launched into a series of gestures which Diego interpreted. "Tell father the truth? So that he will understand and won't get so angry with me?" He shook his head. "That is not an option, not if I want him to stay protected. He patted the young man on the shoulder. "Let's go."

With a tap, the back of the library fireplace swung open and the two men ducked through it and out of sight.

Z Z Z

In the middle of the plaza, most of the pueblo's citizens had formed a circle around a post driven into the ground near the fountain. There was an angry buzz in the air, one Ignacio de Soto didn't like. Was he never to punish anyone, even if they were guilty of the crime of which they had been accused? A good three quarters of his men became ill after eating the tainted chicken. The source was obvious. And well, yes, the garrison's cook was possibly the worst he had ever come across in his entire military career. But the very fact the man was sick too, was proof that he had not knowingly served the spoiled meat.

Two of the remaining healthy lancers marched the farmer, Peralta, to the stake, and proceeded to tie him up. Sergeant Mendoza, who had been one of the first to become ill and who was still looking a little queasy, held out a whip, which de Soto took and slowly uncoiled. "Sergeant," he barked, "tear off his shirt. 

"Now, Sergeant!" he roared as the soldier did not immediately obey his command. Mendoza jumped, then scurried over to the farmer.

"Sorry, Señor," the alcalde heard him whisper. "I'll buy you a new shirt, even if it means I will have to go without tamales for a month."

"It's all right, Sergeant," the prisoner replied. "I know you're only doing your duty."

De Soto, irritated by the exchange, yelled, "Mendoza, get out of the way, or you feel my lash today as well." 

As the portly lancer stepped aside, Victoria and Don Alejandro pushed to the front of the restless mob. "I have purchased chicken from Señor Peralta for years," she announced, "and he has never sold me a bad chicken. Why would he start selling it now?"

"Perhaps the man is getting senile," the alcalde sneered, "and cannot tell a good egg from a bad one anymore." He chuckled at his own wit. No one else did, much to his displeasure. "Stand back!" he shouted, rearing his whip hand back with a flourish.

A split second later, de Soto was screaming in pain as the lash flew from his fingers and onto the ground. As one, everyone turned to see Zorro, sitting astride Toronado, and calmly coiling up his own whip.

"How dare you!" The alcalde felt a surge of heated rage course through him as he nursed his stinging hand.

"I dare because you are punishing the wrong man," Zorro responded in an icy tone. "It is known fact that the cuartel cook would sell his own mother for a bottle of tequila, not to mention his being one of the most inept people in the history of the culinary arts to ever don an apron. Señor Peralta, however, has a reputation as one of the superior chicken farmers in the territory."

"Shoot him!" de Soto yelled, waving at the pitiful few lancers in the plaza. "Just don't stand there! Kill him!

But before even one of his men could lift their rifle, an authoritative voice rang out. "Stand down your weapons!"

Once again, heads swivelled as a uniformed man rode into the pueblo, followed closely by a platoon of soldiers also on horseback. They swiftly surrounded the people in the plaza, too reminiscent of the arrival of Risendo and his men for de Soto's liking. The alcalde could sense the crowd's agitation as the officer dismounted and strolled up to where he stood.

"Untie that man at once!" The man barked out the order as Ignacio scrutinized him. A colonel, by the markings on his uniform. But it definitely was not Spanish military issue.

"By whose orders?" de Soto asked defiantly. 

"Ignacio de Soto, you have been relieved as commandante of the pueblo de Los Angeles effectively immediately." The soldier waved his hand and two of his men came forward, loosening the poor farmer's bonds.

"Why?" the alcalde queried with a terse laugh. "Because of a little flogging? He is guilty of. . ."

The officer interrupted briskly. "No, because Spanish military personnel no longer have any authority," he announced, turning to the assemblage and raising his voice, "under the independent government of Mexico. I am Colonel Guerrero and I will be taking command of the cuartel. My men and I will also be conducting a census of the local populace."

" _Un momento, por favor_ ," said de Soto. "I demand to see your credentials, Colonel." He spat out the last word as if it were poison. "You see," he continued, "lately too many people have come to Los Angeles pretending to be government officials, when in reality they were nothing but thieves and murderers."

"That does not say much about your leadership abilities, now does it?" Guerrero retorted. "Take him to the garrison jail."

Two of his soldiers come forward but the alcalde stepped out of their way. "Jail? But why?" de Soto pleaded. "I have done nothing wrong!"

"Will you make a declaration of loyalty to the Mexican government, and forsake your Spanish citizenship?" the officer declared. "Do that, and you may remain a free man."

"What? No, never!" stated de Soto emphatically. "I am and always will be a citizen of Spain."

"Lock him up." With flick of his wrist, Guerrero indicated to the soldiers standing next to the alcalde. They grab the other man's arms and proceeded to march him toward the cuartel. 

"No! This is an outrage! You'll regret this!" De Soto fought against his captors all the way inside the gates and beyond. 

"Who is next in command here?" Guerrero inquired, sweeping the garrison's lancers with a disgusted glance.

Mendoza nervously raised his hand. "Me, sir." He stepped forward and gave his tunic a downward yank before firing off a salute. "Sergeant Jaime Mendoza, sir."

"Well, Sergeant," the officer began, "will you make a declaration of loyalty to the Mexican government?"

" _Si, si_ , Colonel, sir," Mendoza agreed with only a second's hesitation.

"You will be my second in command," the other man declared. "Now, if you would show me the alcalde's office. . ."

Taking a step forward, Don Alejandro interjected, "Wait a minute, Colonel." The soldier turned to stare intimidatingly at the elder de la Vega. "What do you mean?" the old don inquired undauntedly, "Mexico is independent?"

"And you are. . .?"

"Alejandro de la Vega." 

"Ah, yes. Pleasure to meet you, Señor de la Vega." Guerrero snapped his fingers and one of his subordinates scurried over, carrying a roll of parchment, which the officer handed over to the old don.

"You find all the details contained within," the colonel stated. "Actually, it has been four months since the Army of the Three Guarantees rode into Mexico City and proclaimed the independence of the Mexican Empire."

"Four months?" queried Don Alejandro, looking up from the scroll. "Why are we just now hearing of it?"

"It takes time to hammer out all the details."

"Four months?" the elder de la Vega repeated. With a shake of his head, he then began reading the pronouncement aloud. "All military personnel will be obliged to take a loyalty oath. Those who refuse will be deported to Spain. Citizens other than military personnel will become automatic citizens of the Mexican Empire. They do have the option of returning to Spain if they wish. All those who have been accused of crimes against the Spanish crown are hereby pardoned."

Victoria's eyes lit up. "What about Zorro?" she asked. "Does this mean he has been pardoned?" She glanced around excitedly, as did many of the others assembled. The man in black was nowhere to be seen. He must have slipped away during the early chaos. With a disappointed pout, Victoria directed her attention back to the colonel.

"Zorro? Ah, yes, the famous fox of Los Angeles," said Guerrero. "He was an outlaw in the eyes of the Spanish crown. As long as he behaves himself under the laws of the Mexican Empire, he can consider himself pardoned and the price on his head revoked."

Victoria bounced happily on her toes. She clutched Don Alejandro's arm to balance herself, unable to conceal her glee. All the years of waiting were finally over. Zorro would be free to marry her at last. Too bad he hadn't stuck around to hear the news himself. Victoria shivered with anticipation at what the masked man might do when he learned of his acquittal. 

Her romantic musings were interrupted by the arrival of Diego and Felipe, who had made their way to the front of the crowd to stand next to her and Don Alejandro. The colonel and his men, led by Mendoza, made their way to the cuartel.

"What's going on?" Diego asked blandly. "Who are these men? Where is the alcalde?"

His father answered his last question first, "de Soto is in jail." He then handed the parchment to his son. "We now live in the _Mexican Empire_ ," the elder de la Vega declared, "and Zorro has been pardoned of all his crimes. Read for yourself."

Diego quickly perused the document. "It doesn't mention Zorro specifically," he pointed out. 

" _Si_ , but Colonel Guerrero said that he was," Victoria replied a bit giddily. "As long as he doesn't cause any trouble for the new government."

"Hmm, very interesting."

"That's all you can say?" Victoria spouted angrily. "He's free!"

"We'll see," said Diego mysteriously.

"What does _that_ mean?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips.

"I think this calls for a fiesta," announced Don Alejandro, an intrusion for which Diego was extremely grateful.

Choruses of " _Si!_ " and "Let's celebrate!" filled the air around them, along with shouts of " _Viva la Mexico!_ " and " _Viva El Zorro!_ " People started streaming toward the tavern.

"Oh, dear." Victoria swirled away from the de la Vegas and headed toward her business.

Don Alejandro clapped his hands onto Diego's and Felipe's shoulders. "We should probably go help," he proposed in a tone that brooked no argument. The old don joined the others moving toward the inn.

A sharp tug on his sleeve by Felipe turned Diego's attention to the lad. "Yes," he agreed in response to the youth's signs. "It's a relief that Zorro no longer has a price on his head." Elation filled his heart. He could marry Victoria. He could be the son his father always wanted him to be. 

His joy turned to insecurity in a instant. He wanted Victoria to marry him, not Zorro. He wanted his father to be proud of him, and not just because he was Zorro. Would they even believe him if he told them the truth without having to show them proof? He highly doubted it.

Zorro might be a free man, he thought bitterly, but he, Diego de la Vega, was still shackled by the many masks he had worn for so long.

Z Z Z


	2. Chapter 2

"Let me out of here!" roared de Soto hoarsely. He had been loudly protesting his arrest since he had been unceremoniously dumped inside a cell nearly two hours earlier. His throat was feeling scratchy and his head was beginning to ache. But he couldn't let a little physical discomfort stop him from objecting to his unfair imprisonment.

"How can you pardon Zorro?" he demanded. "He is an outlaw. A bandit. A agitator of the people. A thief. A traitor. A saboteur. He is the one who should be locked up, not me. He deserves nothing less than to swing at the end of a rope."

The door to the jail opened and Guerrero stepped through it. "What is done is done, Alcalde," he stated matter-of-factly. "Why can't you just be quiet and accept his fate. . .and yours."

"I demand to see your papers," Ignacio declared, brushing aside the colonel's words as if they were a pesky insect. "How do I know you are who you say you are? You have no right to detain me like this."

"I have the right given to me by the authority of the Mexican Empire," said Guerrero. "Since you refuse to pledge your loyalty to the new government, I can keep you here until you can be dispatched on the first ship to Spain."

"What about my men?" the alcalde questioned querulously. "They are soldiers in the Spanish Colonial Army. Why haven't you incarcerated them as well?"

"Don't you know?" said the colonel. "They all pledged their allegiance to the Mexican Empire." He chuckled. "Again, it doesn't say much for your leadership, does it?"

"What? You're lying!" shouted de Soto, gripping the bars of his cell. "All of them? That's impossible. Surely Sergeant Mendoza would never. . ."

"He was the first one to do so," Guerrero interrupted. He then waved his hand abruptly. "Enough of this nonsense. You will behave yourself until you can be transported. Or else you'll find yourself on the other end of a whip. Do I make myself clear?"

Lightheadedness swept through de Soto. "As crystal," he murmured as he sat down on his meager cot. He barely noticed the other man had departed until he heard the door close with a thud.

He felt betrayed. By his men, by his country, and oddly enough, by Zorro. He wasn't fool enough to hope the masked man would rescue him, especially now he was a free man. But some kind of gesture would have been nice, maybe as a nod to an esteemed adversary.

With a sigh, the erstwhile alcalde reclined on his bed, clinging to the thought of going home to Spain. He may not be returning as the conquering hero, which was a huge disappointment, but at least he would be shaking the dust from this dirty little pueblo from his boots forever.

Z Z Z

The fiesta had spilled out of the tavern and into the plaza. People had strung lanterns, anyone who could play an instrument had been pressed into service, and makeshift tables of food and drink had been set outside. There was dancing everywhere, and everyone was joining in, from the smallest youngsters to the pueblo's oldest citizens.

Diego watched as his father twirled across the tavern floor with the wife of one of his friends. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a red-faced Felipe gesturing to a couple of girls who were also blushing fiercely. One of the young ladies nodded and the young man swept her off into the dance. 

Glancing down as his half-empty bowl of _albondigas_ soup, Diego suddenly lost his appetite, as he remembered a eerie similar scene less than a year earlier. When everyone thought Gilberto Risendo was dead and were celebrating the end of his reign of terror. They had been mistaken then. Where they mistaken now as well? 

He had seen the document. It had appeared authentic. But what if they were being duped again? What if this Guerrero had evil designs of some sort on Los Angeles? What if his pardon of Zorro was in reality bait to try to capture the elusive bandit? What if. . .

"Diego, are you all right?" Victoria's cheerful inquiry burst through his gloomy thoughts like broken glass.

"Yes, of course," he replied automatically. He glanced up at her and was pained to see the beaming smile on her face. He knew the reason for it. She thought she was finally going to married the man of her dreams and live happily ever after. 

"Isn't it wonderful?" she asked, sitting down opposite him. 

He realized her question wasn't rhetorical and she was looking at him expectantly. " _Si_ , wonderful," he parroted. He scooped up another spoonful of his soup, sighed, then let it fall back into the bowl. Getting to his feet, Diego extended his hand to Victoria. "Shall we dance?"

She nodded, standing as well. He led her over to where the majority of people were frolicking to the music then swept her into his arms for a waltz. Losing himself into her nearness and the music, his earlier paranoia fled, replaced by a hungry desire cause by her scent and softness. 

As the song came to an end, Diego noticed his father approaching them. "Son, I'm going to head back to the hacienda," he announced. 

"Why? Is everything all right?" Diego was instantly worried. The elder de la Vega did look tired, but considering it was a little after midnight, and it had been long, tumultuous day, that was not a surprise.

"Miguel and I are going to check on the pregnant mares in the north pasture in the morning," Don Alejandro said. 

"Do you want Felipe and me to leave with you?" Diego could stay or go, he didn't really care. Felipe might be a different matter, however. He glanced over to the where the young man was flirting with the girl he had been dancing with earlier. Someone would either have to drag the lad away, or remain behind to keep on eye on him.

"I am not yet so decrepit that I cannot find my way home, Diego," said the old don grumpily. "No, you stay and have a good time. _Buenas noches_ , Victoria. Son."

Both Diego and Victoria said good night to the elder de la Vega as he turned to leave. They each took a deep breath as they looked at each other. "Another dance?" Diego suggested. 

"Maybe later, Diego," she replied. "I need to go check my kitchen. I left Mendoza making tamales an hour ago and I can only imagine the mess he has made since." With a wry smile, she walked off in the direction of her tavern.

Z Z Z

It was almost two in the morning before Diego and Felipe finally left the pueblo. Don Alejandro had not been the only person who had to be up early the next day. But there were the usual stragglers and those like Diego, who had volunteered himself and Felipe to help clean up the worst of the night's revels.

Diego had found himself alone with Victoria as they washed dishes in the tavern's kitchen. "I wonder if Zorro has heard he had been pardoned yet," she had mused aloud. "I wish I knew how to get a message to him."

"Oh, I am sure he already knows," he had said, hiding a grin. "He seems to have eyes and ears everywhere."

" _Si_ ," she sighed wearily. Then her eyes lit up. "He asked me to marry him."

"Did he now?"

"Oh, yes, several months ago," she replied, a dreamy expression on her face. "He even gave me his mother's ring." Picking up several plates, she stacked them into a pile near the sink. "Now that he has been pardoned, we can be married as soon as the banns have been read."

"What if this pardon is just a ploy?" Diego had asked, not sure why he found her chatter about Zorro and weddings so annoying, "another trap to capture Zorro and hang him for his crimes?"

"You didn't hear what Colonel Guerrero said," Victoria had snapped at him. "He said as long as Zorro didn't ride against the new government, he would escape punishment."

"But what if this new regime proves to be as corrupt as the last one?" Diego couldn't help but play devil's advocate. "What if Zorro is needed more than ever? What then?"

"Diego, no one could be as evil as the last two alcaldes," she stated crossly. She then glared at him. "You act as though you want there to be more trouble so that Zorro's pardon is rescinded, and that he and I will never be together."

"Of course not," he had countered. "I want peace as much as the next person. Even more so. But you have to admit, we have been taken in by phony and dishonest officials on more than one occasion. I would hate for you to get your hopes up, only to see them dashed.

"And let's be honest," he continued, "you don't even know who Zorro truly is. You might not want to marry him once he reveals himself to you."

"That is what he said to me when. . ." She paused, narrowing her eyes. "You're not jealous, are you?"

"Me? No." Relief had filled him as he had been worried for a split second she had figured out his dual identity on her own. Although, he told himself, it no longer actually mattered. If he was really and truly pardoned, she would learn it soon enough. Maybe as soon as the next evening. Suppressing another grin, he had started pumping clean water into the sink so she could soak the worst of the dirty pots and pans.

So deep was Diego in his thoughts he barely noticed as he and Felipe trotted up the small rise that led to the de la Vega hacienda. As soon as they reached its peak, however, he was torn from his reminisces as they could see that the house was ablaze with light.

Felipe flung him an anxious glance. "I don't know," Diego replied. "But I think we should find out. _Vámanos_." They urged their mounts faster, reaching the courtyard in a matter of minutes.

Diego dismounted and strode quickly to the front door. Yanking it open, he took one step inside then came to a stunned halt. It seemed as if all the servants and ranch hands stood in the foyer, the women and girls dabbing at their eyes and the men and boys stoically holding their hats over their hearts.

"What is going on?" he asked brusquely. A sense of dread welled up in his chest. There could be only one thing that made sense. _No_ , he told himself, pushing the thought from his mind. Anything but _that_.

Maria, the housekeeper, came forward, wiping at her face with a lace trimmed hankie. "I am so sorry, _Patrón_ ," she said, laying her hand on his arm. "Your father is. . ."

"No!" cut in Diego with a shout. "No!"

"I'm sorry, Diego," said Miguel, the stablemaster, who had come up to stand beside Maria. "Don Alejandro is dead."

"How. . .?" He glanced around although he could take in nothing. This was a nightmare. It had to be.

Another hand was laid upon his free arm and Diego jerked his head around to see Felipe standing next to him. Tears were flowing freely down the youth's face. He turned away, unable to deal with the anguish he saw etched on the youth's face.

"He was in the stables, he had just come back from the pueblo," Miguel said in answer to Diego's choked query. "He was handing his horse over to Paco here." The stableboy shrank back as he was pointed out. "Then he clutched at his chest and made a horrible gasping noise, then collapsed. He was dead before he hit the ground."

Diego began shaking his head. "No, no, no." He kept repeating the word, thinking if he said it enough times, he would wake up and this would all be just a terrible, terrible dream. They had to be wrong, he thought angrily. They were just stable hands and serving girls. How could they tell if someone was dead or not?

"Where is he?" he demanded. "I want to see him for myself."

"Of course, _Patrón_ ," said the housekeeper. "We put him in his bedroom." She led the way down the hallway. Numbly, Diego followed, vaguely aware Felipe walked a few steps behind him. Maria unlocked the door, then opened it wide so the two men could enter ahead of her.

Diego only took a couple steps into the room before stopping. His father was lying on his bed, still dressed in the clothes he had been wearing when he had left the fiesta. The elder de la Vega looked as if he were sleeping peacefully. 

He was afraid. Afraid what they were saying was true. But it couldn't be. He refused to believe it. He would know. He would feel it. It would be as if a large piece of his heart had been torn away. Wouldn't it? Of course it would. But he couldn't feel anything at all. It was like he was in someone else's body. With all the courage he could muster, Diego moved closer. 

He reached out, noticing calmly he was trembling like a sapling in the wind, and touched his father's hand. He nearly jerked away, its unexpected coldness startling him. Bracing himself further, he moved his fingers up to Don Alejandro's wrist to search for a pulse. Nothing. Not even a flutter.

Diego fell to his knees beside the bed. Why? Why now? Things were finally taking a turn for the better. There was a new government, a new hope that justice would once more prevail over Alta California. That the people would be allowed to grow their crops and raise their children and not have to live in fear of an unfair alcalde who decided their fate on his whims and tried to tax them into oblivion.

There was so much he regretted. He had never told his father he was Zorro. He had never become the son his father could be proud of. He had never married and given him the grandchildren his father had wanted so badly. And now he never would. It was all too late.

Grief rolled onto him like a giant boulder, crushing him so he could hardly breathe. He got unsteadily to his feet.

" _Patrón_ ," said Maria from her place by the door. "We've sent for Padre Benitez but he is on another sick call and. . ."

"Fine. Whatever," Diego interrupted her, unable to deal with her prattle. Then he realized how she was addressing him. She never before called him patrón in his father's presence; the servants and vaqueros had always acknowledged his father was the one in charge. Now that mantle fell on his shoulders. It weighed heavily and he wanted nothing more than to throw it off. But one look at the housekeeper's face told him it was his permanently.

He had to get out of here. Now. Spinning abruptly, he practically ran from the room. "But, _Patrón_ , you need to. . ." He was out of earshot before the woman could tell him what he needed to do. The people in the front rooms were a blur as he passed by them on his way out the door. 

Excellent, his horse was still saddled and waiting in the courtyard. Diego swiftly swung himself onto Esperanza's back and nudged her through the gate. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Felipe rush down the front steps. Heartlessly, he turned away. He couldn't deal with his own devastation right now, let alone someone else's. He would handle it later. Much, much later.

Z Z Z


	3. Chapter 3

The sun was starting to peep over the horizon when Diego brought his mare to a halt in the rear of the tavern. He had rode aimlessly for the past few hours with no particular destination in mind. He wasn't even sure why he now found himself in the pueblo, planning to do something rather reckless. 

He looked upward, staring at the route he had taken many times before. A sudden fear swept over him, but he suppressed it. He was tired of being thought a coward. From now on, he was going to be himself, the man he had hidden away for far too long. With both hands, he grabbed the top of the door frame and hoisted himself up.

Victoria had tried to stay awake, she really had. She didn't know if Zorro would come to her during what was left of the night, but she felt so sure he would. But it had been such a long and exhausting day, she fell asleep almost as soon as her head touched her pillow. But a noise roused her from her slumber, a noise that sounded like her bedroom window was being opened.

"Zorro!" She bolted upright in her bed, excitement bubbling inside her, and peered into the darkness. 

"Sorry to disappoint you, but no," said Diego as he stepped into the pale beam of light in the middle of the room.

"Diego?" she inquired. What was he doing here? The question had barely entered her mind when he swooped down and kissed her full on the mouth. A kiss that drove it and every other thought from her head. A kiss that stirred her like never before. A kiss that was meant to pleasure, yet also meant to punish.

She gave herself up to it, reveling in its passion. When Diego pressed her against the mattress, she didn't protest. When he moved from her lips to her neck, she just whimpered with bliss. When he cupped her breasts, she moaned with delight. But when his hand began stroking her bare thigh, Victoria was startled out of the daze she had fallen into so willingly. 

"Diego, no," she murmured, trying to push him off. His fingers were moving slowly up her leg, causing desire to pool low in her stomach. It was so powerful she almost let him continue, but then his hand touched a place no one had ever touched before, frightening her back to reason. 

"No! Stop!" she shouted, shoving him with all her might, catching him off guard. He fell off the bed, landing awkwardly on the floor. Victoria watched in confusion as he stared blankly, almost as if he had no idea where he was. "Diego?" she queried tentatively. "Diego, is something wrong?"

"It's not fair," he declared as he struggled to stand. "But then life never is."

Victoria was even more befuddled. What on earth was he talking about? "Diego, please," she pleaded, as he finally looked at her with a pained expression. "What is wrong?"

Oh, _Dios mio_ , what had he almost done? Diego covered his face with his hands. _Please, tell me I didn't almost rape Victoria_ , he begged, even though he had seen the truth of it with his own eyes.

"Diego, what's going on?" He could hear the concern in her voice, and it made him sick. He couldn't tell her. He couldn't make himself say the words. That his father was dead. Dead and gone, without him having the guts to tell him he was Zorro. Well, he was not going to make that mistake with the woman he loved.

He turned, stumbling toward the window. He swiveled around to face her, his eyes meeting hers. "I am Zorro," he blurted out. "Just thought you'd like to know."

That said, he climbed through the opening and disappeared.

Victoria sat on her bed, shocked beyond belief. Diego was Zorro? How could it be? She had dismissed that possibility years ago. But, the way he had said it, and the look on his face. . . She shivered. It must be true. Throwing aside her bedcovers, she rushed over to the window. "Diego! Wait!"

But she was too late. Diego had already mounted his horse and was riding away into the dawn light.

Z Z Z

Bringing Esperanza to a halt just outside the de la Vega stables, Diego realized he could not go inside. He dismounted and led his mare to the wide doorway. "Miguel?" he called out. "Paco?" 

Five minutes later, Paco walked out, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with one hand while tucking in his shirt with the other. " _Si, Patrón_ ," the lad said before yawning.

"See to my horse, _por favor_." He held out the reins and the stable boy took them, a puzzled look on his young face. He and his father had always prided themselves on being able to take care of their own stock, instead of leaving it to their underlings like so many of their peers. But Diego could not bring himself to step into the barn, the place where his father had died. He knew he was being foolish, it hadn't been the stables or the horses that had killed him. But still. . .

Diego strode purposely to the hacienda, which was thankfully void of servants for the moment. Entering the library, he made his way to the fireplace, punched open its back panel and ducked inside.

Once in the cave, he scanned the room. There curled up in the hay of Toronado's stall, just as he expected, was a sleeping Felipe. The youth looked as exhausted as Diego felt. Deciding to let the lad rest, he turned to leave, but uncharacteristically tripped over his own feet and fell against on of the laboratory tables, knocking over some empty beakers. Two of the them crashed to the floor. Felipe sat up immediately, an alarmed expression on his face.

"Sorry," said Diego contritely. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

Felipe shrugged then got to his feet. With a flurry of gestures, he asked where Diego has been all night.

"I just rode for awhile," Diego answered nonchalantly. "Then I went to see Victoria and told her I was Zorro."

The young man's eyes widened in shock. "I don't know whether she believed me or not," Diego replied to Felipe's new set of signs. "I didn't stick around to find out." Like the coward everyone thought him to be, he scolded himself, hanging his head in shame.

Felipe poked him in the arm, forcing him to pay attention as the youth gestured Maria had kept asking about the funeral arrangements. "I am sorry I left you in the lurch, Felipe," Diego stated, "but I just couldn't deal with it then. I'm not sure I can deal with it now. But I really don't have much of a choice, do I?"

The young man shook his head as Diego sighed. "Come on," he said wearily, patting Felipe's shoulder. "Let's get this over with."

Z Z Z

The mission church was filling with citizens from all walks of life. Diego wasn't surprised to see so many people there as his father was a well-known and respected caballero. From his viewpoint in the back of the chapel, he scanned the crowd, noting with a bit of shock that Colonel Guerrero was in attendance along with all the garrison's lancers.

Where was de Soto? Diego knew for a fact the alcalde was still awaiting deportation in the cuartel jail. Surely he could be let out to attend the funeral? Unless for some reason he had declined. Diego decided he was going to find out. 

He strode forward to where the colonel was sitting and tapped his shoulder. "Where is de Soto?" he asked without preamble. "I insist he be released so he can be here."

With narrowed eyes, he noted Guerrero's hesitation before the other man motioned to the nearest two lancers and whispered his instructions. He glared up at Diego, not at all happy at his request. Diego didn't care. Ignacio had been his schoolmate, and a worthy adversary who had more or less kept out of mischief since he had saved Diego's life by shooting Risendo before the mad emissary could do the same to Diego.

That memory was dispelled by a scuffle at the church doors. The soldiers are dragging de Soto, whose physical condition was appalling. His hair was uncombed and flying in all directions. His clothing was stained and crumpled. And Diego could smell him even though he was several feet away. 

Whipping around to face the colonel, Diego was about to unleash his fury over the alcalde's treatment when he felt hands squeezing both his arms. Glancing from side to side, he saw Victoria and Felipe both frowning at him and shaking their heads.

Fine, he would be quiet for now. But later. . . He stared at Guerrero who had the decency to turn away. Diego then walked up to where de Soto was still being held by pair of lancers. They dropped their hands and stepped aside as he approached.

"Thank you, Diego," said Ignacio hoarsely. "You have my deepest sympathy. Don Alejandro was a g. . ."

"Just behave yourself," Diego replied tersely. He spun around and finally made his way to the front pew where Felipe and Victoria already were sitting. Behind him, he could hear people speaking in hushed tones, no doubt over his outrageous conduct. But he didn't care. The old Diego, the one he had played for so long might have. But the new Diego, the true Diego, the Diego he was always supposed to be, was no longer going to be the fool nor act the coward. Those days were over.

A hard nudge to his ribs jolted him from his musings. Realizing everyone else had risen to their feet, Diego also stood and turned to watch as six of the de la Vega ranch hands carried in the casket, followed by Padre Benitez and four altar boys.

It suddenly became hard to breathe again. He could not do this, he thought in a panic. He still needed his father, he wasn't ready to let him go. For a split second, the idea of fleeing crossed his mind. But then two hands grabbed his, instantly calming him. Once again he looked at Victoria and Felipe and was extremely grateful they were both there.

Z Z Z

He was tired of playing the gracious host, Diego thought as he surveyed the people scattered about the hacienda. Of course it was expected he provide a luncheon for the other caballeros and their wives, and for those who worked for him and his father. . .

Clenching both his fists and his teeth, he saw another one of Don Alejandro's friends approaching. Ah, yes, the slap on the back. The offer of condolences along with the suggestion if he needed assistance with the ranch or anything, just to let them know. As though they all believed he won't be up to the task, that he could never fill his father's shoes. And who knew, they just might be right. It was something Diego had put off dealing with for years, rationalizing he was needed elsewhere, and there would be plenty of time to knuckle under and learn how to run the vast de la Vega empire.

He smiled and nodded as Don Emilio clapped him on the shoulder before wandering off to get another plate of food. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see someone else making their way toward him. No, he had had enough, more than he could bear, if truth be told. He slipped away as inconspicuously as someone his height possibly could, ducking into the kitchen, much to the surprise of the housekeeper and her minions.

"Is everything all right, _Patrón_?" asked Maria, wiping her hands on her apron.

" _Si, si_ , everything is fine. I. . .I just need a breath of fresh air."

" _Si, Patrón_ ," she replied as he disappeared through the back door. With a sad shake of her head, she went back to work.

It was half an hour later Victoria found Diego hiding out in the courtyard. She smiled fondly as she realized it was the very spot where she and Zorro had share their first kiss. Had he chosen it deliberately or. . .?

She watched as he aimlessly doodled in the dust with a stick. Was he doing some sort of mathematics? she wondered as he drew a few numbers and letters then crossed them out. It was beyond anything she could comprehend.

"I won't bite, you know."

Diego's words startled her. "How. . .How did you know I was here?" 

"Your scent. I would recognize it anywhere. It's a mixture of spices, peppers, onions, and a delicate hint of roses"

"Oh." Victoria sniffed the air around her but didn't smell anything out of the ordinary.

"Why do you think he brought you roses?" asked Diego. "Where do you think he found them?" With his free hand, he indicated the roses growing all around them.

It had never crossed her mind before, but now that he mentioned it, she wondered why she hadn't been curious about where the flowers Zorro had given her came from. And speaking of Zorro. . .

"You talk as if Zorro is another person."

"He is. He was." Diego chuckled humorlessly. "I know it sounds insane, that I must be insane. . . But he had to be an entirely different person, separate from the person I was hiding behind, so that no one would guess they were one in the same." He sighed wearily. "It does sound insane, doesn't it?" He resumed his doodling.

"No, I understand," Victoria replied. "I ought to be upset with you for deceiving me all this time, and I was, but I understand now why you did it."

"I'm sorry about the other night, or morning, I suppose," said Diego, not looking up from his sketching. "I didn't mean to. . ."

"Oh, that is quite all right," she said automatically. "I mean, I was. . . I didn't know about your. . ."

"Yes, well," he interrupted, dropping his stick as he stood up. "I am still very sorry. I shouldn't have. . ."

"I came out here to give you this," Victoria stated before she lost her nerve. He seemed so vulnerable, she probably shouldn't do this now. But she needed to do it sooner or later, preferably sooner. She held out her hand. He moved closer and reached out with his own hand. His mother's engagement ring fell into his open palm.

The look of devastation on his face nearly had her snatching the ring back. She knew what he was thinking, that she couldn't love the man beneath the mask. She had struggled with his revelation and this was the only way to set things right between them.

"I can no longer accept Zorro's proposal of marriage," she announced boldly. "He is not the man I want to marry." 

Diego glanced up at her sharply and she saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "The true owner of that ring is the man I love. If he were to propose to me, my answer would be yes," Victoria said, smiling shyly.

Shaking his head, Diego was having a hard time taking it all in. The new government's takeover. Zorro's pardon. His father's death. Victoria's declaration of love. Everything was happening too fast.

"We would not be able to marry right away," he said once his head stopped reeling. "Everyone would know that I am Zorro and I don't want that." She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up his hand to stay her. "I want Zorro to fade away, never to be heard from again."

"I just don't want to wait too long," she said. 

"Neither do I," Diego added, thinking of the grandchildren who would never know their grandfather. Putting the emerald and diamond ring into his pocket, he then took her hand. "Thank you."

Victoria looked at him curiously as he escorted her back inside the hacienda. Time to face the music, he told himself. It would be what his father would have expected of him.

Z Z Z


	4. Epilogue

**A Year Later**

Diego stood at the foot of his father's grave, not sure why he acquiesced to Victoria's suggestion he visit the cemetery the evening before their wedding. Probably for the most obvious reason, he told himself, because tomorrow she would be his wife. 

It hadn't been too difficult to convince everyone Zorro had taken his pardon and had rode off into the sunset. Especially since he had not been seen since that fateful day nearly a year ago. Ignacio de Soto had sailed off to his beloved Spain not long after that. The Mexican Empire had more pressing problems to worry about other than a dusty little pueblo in Alta California. The new alcalde had no ambition to do more than competently govern Los Angeles. The garrison's lancers had been whipped into shape, and were no longer the bumbling, inept soldiers they had been under the last two alcaldes.

And no one had raised an eyebrow when Diego began courting Victoria in earnest. It seemed one of his secrets had not been such a secret after all. There had been others who had also tried to press their suit once they realized Zorro wasn't coming back to claim the lovely innkeeper. But she had spurned them all and had publicly accepted his proposal two months ago.

Diego had thought he would feel foolish talking to his father's headstone, but he had been wrong. It felt cathartic. Glancing down, he saw a smear of paint on the side of his hand he must have missed earlier, after he had put the finishing touches on the portrait of his father. The one he had started the year before, the one he couldn't bring himself to even look at until three months ago. As soon he returned to the hacienda, he was going to hang it next to the portrait of his mother over the fireplace in the library, where it would preside over the next day's wedding reception.

"I'm sorry for not trusting you enough to tell you I was Zorro," he whispered as he knelt down beside the grave marker. Bowing his head, he added, "and for not giving you the grandchildren you desired so much." Those were his biggest regrets, along with the fact he had not had the chance to say goodbye properly. "I am so sorry, Father."

A feeling of peace suddenly flowed through him, leaving him trembling. In that moment, he knew his father had forgiven him. Diego glanced upward, and murmured, " _Gracias_."

He got to his feet, gazing down at the graves of his mother and father, lying side by side in eternal rest. He smiled, full of happiness they were back together at last. 

"Diego?" He turned to see Victoria walking toward him, evidently finished with her own visitation of her parents' graves. "All right?" she asked cautiously.

"Yes." He enveloped her in his arms and held her close. "Yes, I believe I will be," he said before releasing her

Hand in hand, they walked back to the pueblo.

Z Z Z

**FIN**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is dedicated to the memory of my father who passed away in 2005.  
> Love and miss you always, Dad.
> 
> The title of this story, Lagrima Quieta (A Quiet Tear) is from a song by Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass which is on the album "The Lonely Bull". It was one of my dad's favorite albums.


End file.
